


Breaking Point

by FreyaFallen



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: BDSM, Blood, Corruption, Corruption Kink, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Drugs, DysFUNctional families, F/M, Humiliation/Degradation, Impact, Kink, Knife Play, Manipulation, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Spanking, Squick, Sugar Daddy, Underage Drinking, bloodkink, pretty much just a plot made to explore Kinky Roman Godfrey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-01-29 16:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaFallen/pseuds/FreyaFallen
Summary: Getting paired with Roman Godfrey for a Junior Year school project was going to ruin Cassandra Everard's GPA, she was sure of it. But when Roman realizes just how far she'll go to keep her grades up, he makes her an offer she can't refuse.
Relationships: Letha Godfrey/Roman Godfrey, Roman Godfrey/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 90





	1. Byzantium

**Author's Note:**

> My hormones have been running away from me lately, so this plot bunny appeared and demanded attention. I'm currently on chapter four. It is not necessarily a serious piece, more porn with flimsy plot to frame it.

[](https://ibb.co/JvCNN87)

“Cassandra and Roman.”

The girl jerked in her seat, wide eyes flitting from the other teen to her teacher. She chewed on her lip; Roman Godfrey was paying absolutely no attention. She doubted he had even heard that they were paired for the academic-year-long project. He was instead blatantly staring at his phone, which was hardly hidden by the textbook on his desk, long legs spread around him. 

This would not go well for her. 

Cassandra raised her hand. At the teacher’s gesture, she said, “Doctor Jessup, can we switch partners?”

“No, Cassandra. You don’t always get to work with your friends; that’s just how life is.”

“But--”

“If you have read your syllabus, you’ll see that the first presentation is next month.” Jessup went on, easily drowning the student’s voice. 

Cass wrung her hands, worry churning in her stomach as she calculated what the worst-case scenario might do for her GPA, all the while keeping an eye on her new project partner. He seemed unconcerned, though he should. Cassandra was in the running for valedictorian even if she wasn’t the most likely of the bunch. In countless group projects past, she was the organizer and did the bulk of the work. However, the smaller the group, the harder it was to hide when one party was not pulling their weight. And Dr. Jessup had ensured no one person could do everything. 

She opened up her planner and jotted down the key dates, presentations and when they had to turn in specific parts. Around every two weeks, with a presentation every quarter. This wasn’t even an AP course, but Dr. Jessup was notoriously hard on her upper class students, especially those in her honors and above. Several graduates had told her that most college classes were easier.

The last five minutes were given for planning, and Cass hesitantly packed her bag, planner held to her chest as she approached the lounging youth. He was flicking a silver lighter opened and closed, though thankfully not lighting it in the classroom. He did not acknowledge her as she stood beside his desk, shifting the weight of her feet back and forth.

“Um, hi,” she finally said. His intensely green eyes flitted to her, then back to his lighter. “I’m your partner on the project. Cassandra Everard.”

“Yeah?” It was less agreement and more a question as to what she wanted.

Cass slid into the vacant desk beside him and laid down her planner, smoothing her hands over the pages. “So… Um, I was thinking we should meet maybe twice a week minimum? Since it’s so intensive--”

“Yeah, not doing that.”

“Oh-Kay.” She drummed her fingers against the faux-wood of the desk. “Um, this is a pretty big chunk of our grade, so we should really--”

“Can’t we, I don’t know, do this over email or text?”

She was getting frustrated now. “It’s really more of a collaborative project. The presentations are all done with both of us.”

Roman finally gave her the brunt of his Godfrey-green eyes, and she faltered under the intense scrutiny. “We can meet the night before presentations and you can prep me.”

There was a certain weight to Roman Godfrey’s presence that she had never been subject of before. How someone roughly a month younger than she was had such a powerful aura, she didn’t know. Maybe it came from having enough money to buy whatever he wanted, or the knowledge that he would eventually inherit the bulk of his dead father’s empire. Either way, she found herself fidgeting far more than she would like. 

The bell rang, jarring her out of momentary inaction.

“Could we meet after school this week to discuss it?” As he slung his own bag over his shoulder, towering over her, Cass added, “Please?”

The pleading tone made her wince, but it seemed to impress upon him the importance of the project to her. “Whatever. Yeah, I guess. Tomorrow.”

Cass nodded, relief rushing in a breath out of her chest. “Thanks.”

He studied her from his superior height, gaze roving her features and darting almost imperceptibly over the rest of her, then nodded before taking his leave.

Cass was almost late to her AP Bio class, a fizzing warmth having weakened her body in his wake.

She sat outside the student parking area, at a little picnic table that had seen better days, contemplating how stupid it was of her that she hadn’t set a place to meet with Roman after school. Cassandra had seen the showy beast of a vehicle he boasted often enough. An older Jaguar she was sure cost more than her parents’ cars combined in maintenance alone. 

The roar of the engine prefaced his arrival as he pulled up to the stop sign (stopping only because of the vehicle in front of him). Cass stood and dusted off her jeans, and he looked at her at the movement, then leaned over to open the passenger side door.

“Get in before I change my mind.”

She sidled into the vehicle and strapped her seatbelt, eyeing him. He was still wearing a navy blazer over his fitted tee, a strange affectation for a teenage boy that oddly suited him, and one arm hung outside the window, cigarette in-hand. Cass rolled down her own window to relieve herself of the scent. 

“Smoking is bad for you,” she said, immediately regretting the words.

“No shit?” Roman took a long drag, slowly breathing out the cool grey smoke. “Can’t be worse than the cocaine and booze, though.”

“Cocaine!” Her hands pressed against the leather seat as his speeding gained new context.

“Relax, I haven’t had any today.” He grinned, raising his eyebrows as though he’d made a wonderful joke. While Cassandra didn’t fully sit back into her seat, she folded her hands in her lap.

“Are you always this reckless?”

“Are you always this uptight?”

She rolled her eyes and stared out the window petulantly, watching the town scroll by.

She’d never seen the Godfrey house before. Mansion, Cass corrected herself as they pulled up. It was hidden away in a copse of trees, the lawn surrounding manicured and beautifully green (the green of imported grass, she was sure). There was something vaguely gothic about the spired, stone building, or maybe Victorian. She’d never been good at architectural periods. 

“C’mon.” He stalked off on long legs before she’d even gotten out of the vehicle, scurrying to catch up. Roman frowned when she appeared at his side again, her cheeks red. “You okay there?”

“You’re more than a foot taller than I am,” she huffed. 

He laughed, holding the door open for her. “No fuckin’ way.”

“I’m barely five feet.”

He stared down at her for a second. “Huh, I guess you are.” Roman smirked, then abruptly turned to the spiral staircase, passing over two for every one step, while Cassandra pattered up the stairs one at time, like a normal mortal. Upon entering a room as extravagant as the rest of his home, he cast the blazer onto a high chair at a bar (what kind of teenager had a bar in his bedroom?) and his school bag on the floor beside it before flopping onto his bed, kicking off shoes that looked like they belonged to a CEO, not a high school student. 

All of the furniture looked antique and solid wood, and there were two doors other than the entrance, which she assumed were closet and ensuite bathroom. She stood awkwardly in the doorway, feeling much too small and plain amid the gratuitous show of wealth.

“Well?” He was already immersed in his phone. “Do you need an invitation?”

Cassandra shuffled into the room, shutting it at his imperious gesture, and surreptitiously sat on the edge of the large bed (as the nearest chair was occupied by his jacket, dragging out her planner, the history textbook, and the notebook she devoted to the subject. She paged open to the current month and tapped her pen against the edge of the paper. “So, like I said before, we should probably meet at least twice a week--”

“Holy fuck, we just got out of school, take a minute to breathe.” He pulled out a cigarette case and extracted a filter-free length of white. The spicy scent was not the same as what she’d smelled in the car, and Cassandra frowned at him. 

When he held it out for her, she said, “Is that weed?”

“No, it’s candy. Yeah, it’s weed. Go on.”

“No thanks.” Cass scrunched her nose. “I don’t, um, partake.”

He chuckled and drew in another toke. “Of course not. Miss priss like you probably always crosses her legs at the ankle too.” He blew out a ring and she watched curiously as it seemed to spin in the air before dissipating. “Might do you some good. At this rate, you’ll have a stroke by twenty.”

“We need to get this project figured out,” she said evenly. “Can you do that high?”

Roman eyed her, gaze sharpening on the rapid tapping of her pen and the jogging of her knee beside the bed. “I’ll make you a deal. You take a hit and we’ll set a schedule.”

“I’m not smoking pot to get you to do schoolwork,” she argued.

“You’re not; you’re doing it to take the stick out of your ass.” Cassandra froze, mouth agape as she blinked at him. He held out the joint again, pinched between his long forefinger and thumb. “You’ll still be able to think; one hit won’t make you high, I promise.” He lifted his other hand in imitation of a scout. 

“O-okay,” she said slowly, taking it from him and fiddling with it uncertainly before putting it to her mouth.

“Draw in some, then pull the air into your lungs and let it out slowly.” His green eyes glittered mischievously as he instructed her in the art of smoking pot. “Good girl.

Cassandra was halfway through blowing out the smoke when a coughing fit hit her and she began spluttering. 

His arm was propped on his knee, cheek against his hand as he smirked at her again. “Easy, it’s okay. That happens sometimes when you’re new to it.” 

“I think it burned my throat,” she said, hand rubbing her neck.

“That can happen too.” His obvious interest was heady, though she tried to shake that off. 

As the subtle nudge of the pot kicked in, Cassandra’s eyes widened and she licked her lips. “Oh.”

Roman watched the motion of her tongue, smile still on his face as he took in her dilated pupils and took back the joint. He stretched back, one knee cocked, the other spread across the bed. “So, schedule?”

“Right, um.” She pulled her planner along with her as she sprawled across the bed on her stomach, now relaxed. Fidgeting, she tugged her hair out of her ponytail, sliding the band around her wrist. “Hm. Wednesdays and Fridays are good with me--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, princess. I said no to twice a week. I have a life outside of school.”

Cass pushed back her hair where it had fallen in her face. “So we’ll meet one more time before our first assignment is due? If it’s all at this pace, that definitely won't be enough.”

He held the joint out to her again, dancing it in front of her when she shook her head. “We’re looking at a dead empire, how hard can making a timeline be? Come on, take another hit, it wasn’t so bad, was it?” When she finally accepted, he leaned closer to better observe how she did the second time around.

When Roman took back the weed, he continued staring at her face, lips against his knuckles as he contemplated. “I have an idea.” Cass waited, running her hands through her hair. She’d always enjoyed having her hair played with, but doing it herself usually didn’t feel this good. “We will meet every Wednesday, and the Friday before something is due Monday. In return, you will let me work on getting that stick outta your ass, to include Fridays we aren’t doing school shit.”

Cass had braided her hair during that short little speech, and he reached out, dragging his fingers through it. She distantly thought the color looked prettier in his hand, shinier, more golden. “Why do you care?”

He inched closer, now massaging her scalp, long fingers tangling in her hair. “I’m gonna have a heart attack just watching you freak out this year unless you learn to chill the fuck out.”

She hummed. “Why does this feel so good?”

“Weed is like that. If you think this is good, you should try fucking high.”

Cass’s eyes batted open, though she didn’t remember having closed them in the first place, and pulled away, trying to detangle him from her hair. “I’ll take your word for it.” Eager to change the subject, she added, “Where’s your planner? To put in the due dates and meetings…”

“Get the fuck outta here, you’re a virgin?” Roman rolled onto his back, laughing uproariously. “No wonder you’re wound up. You,” he said, pointing firmly at her, “need to get laid.”

“I’m fine.” She wanted to be angry, but felt the tickle of amusement at his behavior. 

“What’s the problem, afraid of cooties?”

“No. I’ve kissed before. I just… I don’t want to, like, get pregnant or something,” she muttered into her lap. “There’s no reason to have sex now, and there are reasons to wait.”

“Except sex is fucking awesome,” he said. “Use birth control. You’re sixteen years old, for fuck’s sake, act like it.”

“Whatever.” Cass closed her planner. “How am I going to get home?”

“This isn’t nearly enough to get me high.” Roman snubbed out the joint. “C’mon. I’ll drive you, miss priss.” 


	2. Hellos and Highs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman takes Cass to a party, where he drinks, does drugs, is his typical self.

Friday morning saw Roman arriving at school with just enough time to smoke a cigarette before the first period. He wiped over his still tired eyes, then sucked on the filter sticking between his fingers. Fuck, he was exhausted. He was seriously considering dropping school when he turned eighteen. Not like it would matter in the long run.

He leaned against the slick, painted cement wall, just under the overhang enough that he was out of the thick rain. Hopefully the espresso he'd downed on the drive would kick in soon. Roman knew it was weird, but he was paranoid he snored, and would one day find out by some chick in class waking him up so he'd stop vibrating the chalkboard like a poltergeist. 

Thank fucking Christ it was Friday. 

A glimpse of strawberry blonde through the incoming bus crowd reminded him of something. Cassandra Everard, his new study buddy. He chuckled and blew a series of smoke rings. She was a tightly wound little thing. It had been amusing to see her try pot for the first time, and she'd practically melted when he pet her. Roman wanted to see what would happen if she let go, how far down the rabbit hole she might fall.

Roman rubbed at his nose and put out the cigarette. How could he nudge her toward the dark side tonight? 

There was a party tonight. He had intended to blow it off, but this was a golden opportunity.

Roman opened up his phone and shot a message to her, saved under her initials in his phone.  _ Pick u up at 7, send ur address n dress hot. _

"No. Absolutely not. Go change." Roman got out of his car, blocking her from grabbing the door handle in the passenger side.

She stared up at him with those big, pale, pathetic eyes, confusion written across her face. "What's wrong with this?"

He gazed down at her bootcut jeans, fluorescent green tennis shoes, and the zip-up hooded sweatshirt she had thrown over the one somewhat acceptable looking item of clothing, a black tank top. "Are you twelve and going to a fucking slumber party?"

"I don't go to parties, so… how am I supposed to dress."

Roman tossed his cigarette and ground it out on the sidewalk. "Okay, lead the way, princess. Guess I gotta do all the fuckin' work." At her blank look, he gestured to her house. Miraculously, she didn't argue, just scurried ahead and opened the door with a hasty explanation about her mother being at work. 

Her room was small, but neat, a wall cluttered with academic trophies and certificates, a few stuffed animals like all girls under twenty five seemed to own, desktop computer, bookshelf, and irritatingly girly bedding on her full size bed. Roman beelined straight for the closet and started going through what hung there. 

"I have jeans and tees in my dresser," she piped in as though that would help. 

"No, it's warm out. Show some fuckin’ leg."

Cassandra was trying to peek around him as he perused her closet. "Do you have to curse so much?"

"Do you have to be such a fuckin’ prude?" She had an honest-to-God ugly Christmas sweater. And a few flowery, frilly dresses that he imagined were what prepubescent girls wore to Sunday school. He tossed aside a few especially offensive items. "Burn those." Buried at the back of her closet, he finally found the one staple of every woman's wardrobe: the little black dress. 

He held it up, inspecting the dress and the girl side by side. It was flouncy (that was a thing, right?) and probably modest enough in length she wouldn't whine. The neckline wasn't bad either. It was an absolute treasure compared to the rest of Cassandra's wardrobe. He tossed it on the bed, then squatted down to look at her shoes. Two pairs of heels: sparkly silver and strappy, simple open-toed and black. The black pair was slightly higher, so those went on the bed too. 

"Wait--" Cassandra said as he pulled open the drawers of her dresser until he got to the one with bras and panties. "You don't need--"

Roman held up a pair of pink-flowered boy shorts and raised his brows. The girl fell silent, cheeks flushing red. Her bras came in white, nude, and black, all plain. That and a matching pair of panties (one of the few with any lace) went on the dress. "Makeup?" When Cassandra pointed to a little pink plastic crate, he smiled magnanimously at her and then shuffled through her drugstore makeup bin. After a second, he held up his finds. "Cat eyeliner and red lipstick. Pink lip gloss is for tweens." That done, he leaned against the closed door and crossed his arms. "Well? Get changed."

Cassandra fiddled with the zip on her sweater. "Are you going to leave?"

"Didn't plan on it."

Her face fell. "Could you, um, maybe turn around?"

"Um, maybe," he mocked. But he turned, shaking his head. 

There was a bit of shuffling, zippers unzipped, buttons unbuttoned. "Could you get the back?" She was facing away, smooth, pale back exposed from the waist up, and he brushed a hand down her spine to watch her predictably tense before zipping it up. He then pulled out the loose bun of her hair and let it cascade down.

She turned to glare at him, but he was smirking. "Much better." She had somehow managed the slight thickening of her eyeliner and the lipstick while he'd been turned. Roman trailed his eyes over her surprisingly decent figure, the slight waist curving into generous hips. Her legs were nice too, not terribly long, but the skin looked soft and muscled. 

"You need to toss those jeans. There are holes in the thighs."

Cassandra started to chew on her lip, but seemed to remember the lipstick just in time. "My thighs rub together. It happens."

He shrugged. "Then don't wear pants. Come on, princess, let's get out of here. No jacket. You'll be fine." Roman led her with a hand to her lower back, the barest touch enough to hasten her to the car. "This is how you should dress," he told her as he lit up a cigarette. "All the time, by the way." The scowl was well worth it.

The party was at some girl from their school's lake house. Her family had a decent amount of money, so she thought she and Roman were peers. Other than fucking her once (enough to learn she was dull in the sack), he didn't hang around her. Still, it'd be fun, bringing the uptight academic he was currently trying to corrupt to a party where he'd either slept with or turned down half the women. He opened the door of the car for her and they walked inside to too loud music and even louder teenagers. 

Cassandra almost immediately excused herself to the bathroom, probably to snort Adderall or call a girlfriend to rescue her, or whatever girls like her did when they were nervous. For his part, Roman took over one of the leather chairs on the back deck and invited himself into a conversation about the various merits of different booze and what foods they went with best.

"There's a reason mimosas are a classic, asshole," he told one burly jock type. "Mock them all you want, but they are fucking perfect with breakfast, or brunch, or whatever the fuck you're eating when you wake up with a hangover."

"Bro, mimosas are gay," was the witty retort.

Roman spread his hands. "Oh, yeah, you got me. Totally gay." As he rolled his eyes, he caught sight of his guest wandering, no doubt looking for him. He snapped his fingers to get her attention. "Over here, sweetheart." A whistle and she finally found him. "There we go. Hey, be a doll and grab me a drink, huh?"

"Do I look like your servant?" It was remarkably witty coming from her, the first true sign he’d seen of her supposed intelligence other than her astoundingly high GPA.

"Nah, you're much sexier. But get on it, sweetheart, I'm thirsty." The reluctant tug of her lips belied the glare and she turned to do as he asked, not even telling him off for the little slap to her ass. Best of all, when she returned she was carrying a bottle of bourbon, and a red solo cup of some cola for herself. "Now what brought this on?" 

"I remembered the empties in your bedroom and figured I'd save myself a few trips." She sipped her drink, shifting on her heels anxiously. 

"Gotta love a smart girl." The rest of the people in the circle of furniture were trying to feign disinterest, especially the host, Ashley. "Sit down." He patted his knee, wiggling his brows at her with a cheeky grin. 

"On your lap?" 

"It's more comfortable than it looks. C'mon, sweetheart, get on daddy's lap." He took her drink from her small hands, wrapping his other arm around her to tug her forward while half the people around them laughed at his comment. She looked mortified, but somehow awkwardly clambered onto him, her ass pressed against his hip as she turned to face out, legs crossed modestly between his. Roman patted an exposed bit of pale, warm thigh. "Good girl. That wasn't so hard." He then pulled the little mint tin from his blazer, chasing a white pill with a swig of bourbon. "Want to try?" 

Cassandra did not, but a few of the others did, so he graciously passed around the tin, accepting a weed vape from Ashley. This he insisted Cassandra try, holding it up to her lips himself. "Just like the joint, sweetheart." When she didn't cough, he rubbed the back of her neck. 

Something caught his ear. "What? You can't drink Kentucky bourbon with a Cuban cigar. Fucking peasant. That'd be like me taking your cheap mom to a charity dinner." 

"Like your mom is any better, Godfrey?" 

"Weak," he said in disappointment. "If you wanted me to fuck you in the ass, you only had to ask." He swigged more bourbon, tipping some into the red cup he still held for Cassandra, then brought it to her lips. She was a cute little thing under all that self-righteousness and baggy sweaters. Her ass felt nice against him; he'd managed to encourage her more firmly into his lap. She had pretty eyes that often made her look younger, though with the eyeliner and red lips, she was aged back to her true sixteen and attention was brought to lips he thought might look good wrapped around his--

"No thanks. I don't want to get high or anything," the girl on his lap said in a breathy, laughing tone. 

Roman took the joint (how many types of weed did people have here?), drawing in deeply. He curved a hand on her jaw so she faced him and tapped her lips. Her brows twitched toward one another, then shot up when he bent toward her.

Her lips were soft, though her jaw was firm until he started stroking her throat, and she melted into him. A lick at the seam of her lips coaxed her mouth open and Roman breathed into it, his grip slipping to the back of her neck to hold her in place as he breathed smoke into her. His tongue swept across hers, roamed her mouth, keeping her mouth sealed on his until he had to breathe again. The slightly spicy taste of the smoke and the sweetness of her drink lingered on his tongue. 

Her lipstick was smeared and he wiped his own mouth of the garish color. Cassandra blinked dizzily at him as he wiped at the side of her mouth to fix her makeup, then put the joint to her mouth. This time she huffed obediently at it before passing it along. 

Roman leaned back, letting the Ecstasy, weed, and alcohol roll over him so that the blood in his veins sang and everything just felt good. He wrapped an arm around Cassandra and snuggled her firmly into him. Roman groaned, grinding his groin against her ass.

"Roman," she chastised.

One hand was drawing circles up her thigh. "What?"

Cassandra squirmed. "This isn't… we shouldn't be doing this."

He rolled his head back and fisted his hair. "Ugh, God. I'm just feeling you up a little, relax." He leaned in, nose in her hair, inhaling the warm vanilla and vaguely flowery scent pervading her presence. "Not like I'm fucking you right here, in front of everyone." His voice dropped with each word, catching the way her breath hitched and eyes fluttered closed before she shook herself out of it. 

Roman leaned back again and patted her thigh. "So relax. Enjoy the party."

Ashley pulled her into a conversation about whether they were dating (ha!) and it turned into talking about classes from there, a conversation Cassandra actually seemed happy to be in. Roman made comments here and there, but mostly he was awash in sensation. The bourbon burned pleasantly down his throat and into his stomach and he could almost feel as it seeped into his bloodstream. The thought of that blood sent a pulse straight to his dick and it took all his self-control not to rub it against the girl on top of him. He couldn’t go too far too fast.

Her thighs had a pleasant plumpness to them that often could be found paired with a nice ass. He wanted to rock her against his lap, the skin beneath his fingers soft in the way only a girl's could be, warm, smooth. The pads of his fingers trailed up her side, feeling her small frame through the slightly coarse black dress, up to her hair. It glistened in the low light and he could almost see shimmering fractals glimmering off it. Like living strands of silk. He slid it all over one shoulder, revealing the line of her throat. Roman gently laid fingertips over the vein pulsing there. He wanted to suck on it, feel the rhythm against his tongue, see what he could taste through her skin…

He frowned when she suddenly leaned back against him, staring into his face from close enough he could feel the warmth from her skin like a pillow against him.

"How am I getting home?" Her lips were curled in a lazy smile despite the question. 

"We'll get a cab or something if I'm too fucked up to drive. Or we can crash here." Roman nudged her cheek so he could nuzzle against her throat and she giggled softly at the ticklish sensation. 

"Oh, you're definitely fu-fucked up."

He drew back and gaped at her. "Say that again."

"What?" Cassandra's cheeks colored.

"Say 'fuck'."

She chewed her lip, suddenly shy.

"Come on, baby, you just said it." He squeezed her hip. "Just say it again."

"Fuck," she whispered so softly he felt it more than heard it.

"Louder."

"Fuck." It was almost conversational now.

"Louuudeerr."

Cassandra giggled again. "Fuck!"

"That's fucking hot. Good girl." She preened, and it struck Roman just how many mind altering substances she must have consumed to get to that point. And as a little virgin in every way. A wave of triumph at the corruption stoked his ego higher. 

Roman carded through her hair, keeping her head still on his chest. His lips pressed against her and he murmured, "You would so let me fuck you right now. I'm not going to. You have to wait for it." The soft whine from her mouth was like chocolate. His other hand was stroking her wherever he could reach, massaging her thighs, her waist, and she laid there like putty.

Eventually they both fell asleep in that chair, and Roman gently shook her awake in the twilight hour of the morning so he could drive her home, where no one had noticed her absence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone here is reading my other WIP: I haven't abandoned it. This is just smut to help writers block.


	3. Bloody Pleasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman finally gets around to some more sexual, bloody pleasures. Some squick (depending on what you find squicky... I mean, this is the kind of thing that happened in the show).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've slowed down a bit on writing, but I'm working on three different projects at once. So... yeah.

"We cannot skip this Friday, Roman, our presentation is on Monday." Cass was lying flat in his bed and staring up at the ceiling, her planner, a few books in the Byzantine Empire, notebook, and textbook spread out around her.

Roman was sipping brandy from a glass tumbler. They'd been in his room for two hours working on their project, and he had deemed that enough time working. "I think we are sufficiently prepared. Come on, have a drink."

"I need a good grade." She sat up and glared at him.

"Don't you have, like, a perfect GPA? Over 4.0 or some shit?" 

"That's beside the point," she said. "I need to be as competitive as possible for the internship, and Dr. Jessup writing a recommendation--"

Roman cocked his head. "What internship."

She blushed down her chest and grabbed her planner. "I might be willing to meet another day."

"What. Internship." Cass glanced up and was pinned by his green gaze, hard as emeralds and hot as the sun through a magnifying glass. 

She chewed on her lip. "I am applying for an internship at Godfrey Institutes. It's very competitive and only about five percent of candidates even get interviews."

A slow smile unfurled across his face. "You want an interview at the White Tower?" Cass nodded and he sat beside her, eyes bright. "I could get you one."

"I'm not going to barter favors to get the position," she scoffed.

"But the interview," he said. "I could guarantee you get that."

Cass frowned and contemplated that. "So I would still get the internship on merit. If I got it, that is." Her eyes narrowed. "And what's the catch?"

His tongue darted out and his gaze roved over her. "Outside of school and study time, you're mine."

"What?"

Roman stroked down her spine, fingers traipsing over the vertebrae through her shirt. "You had fun at the party. I know I had fun. I enjoy telling you what to do. You get all cute and flustered."

"I-I do not!" she stammered. 

He grinned. "I'm not gonna force you to snort coke off a clown's boner, or anything like that. And we can end things if it's too much for you. I wouldn't sabotage your application either." Roman tipped her face toward him, staring into her eyes. "Be mine, let me teach you how to fun. How to relax." Roman ease closer with each word, until his nose just brushed against hers. "Say yes."

The last was against her ear, and Cass shivered. "We will still do our project?" He nodded. "And you won't make me do anything that will impact school?" She drew in a deep breath as he murmured his agreement. "Okay."

"Good girl." He nipped the air beside her so she jumped, then backed away. "We are going to have fun Friday. We can meet up Sunday to work on the presentation." Roman raised his brows and looked at her expectantly. 

Cass nodded. 

"Now, why are you all--" he waved a hand at her, curled in on herself and obviously tired. 

She stroked at her lower stomach and shook her head. "It's nothing. Don't look at me like that."

"Are you trying to get out of our deal already?" Roman asked. "Tell me."

"It's gonna gross you out." She wanted this conversation to end, as she already felt awkward enough just sitting on his bed. Wednesday had been spent at the library as they searched through books, so this was her first time alone with Roman since the party. 

She hardly remembered getting home Saturday morning, just a vague impression of Roman waking her and having to carry her to his car. He'd been warm and surprisingly comfortable to snuggle against. 

The light of the afternoon streaming through her window had roused her from bed and Cass had spent an hour in the bathtub thinking over the mistakes of the previous evening. Yes, she had felt exhilarated in the moment, at ease and flying all at once as Roman had kissed her and touched her. And every word had kindled the fire in her belly. 

She was attracted to him and he could coax her into just about anything, as he had just proven. But discussing _ this _ might be a step too far.

"You are not gonna gross me out." Roman laid a hand on her thigh and eased it upward. "Now tell me."

"Please, Roman," she implored. "I'm bloated, okay? I'm not in the mood for games and being felt up."

His hands kneaded into her skin under the skirt she wore (not because Roman had told her she should wear them more often, not at all). "Bloated?" He slipped into the floor, kneeling in front of her. "Cramps too?" 

Cass nodded. 

"Mmm. Poor baby, you got your period?" Roman rubbed at the outside of her thighs, inching upward. "I could help you."

Cassandra's lips thinned as she considered him through narrowed eyes. "How?"

"I know a great treatment for cramps." His fingers danced to her knees and he pressed them apart gently, laying his cheek against one thigh. "Trust me."

Sure now that she knew his intentions, Cass balked, immediately trying to snap her legs shut. Roman's grip firmed. "That's gross," she said. "Why would you want to--"

"It's not gross." He rolled his eyes. "Let me do this, and if you hate it, I can stop." Roman licked the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh. "But you won't hate it. I'm very, very good."

She swallowed, her stomach flipping, then nodded once. Roman's smile was indulgent. He stepped away to grab a towel from the bar, then knelt in front of her again, nudging her legs far enough apart that he was firmly between them. His eyes were glued to the hem of her skirt as it rode back against her. 

Cass thought he looked… hungry. He slid his fingers under her skirt and hooked them through the sides of her panties, sliding them down. She expected some show of reluctance at the proof that she actually was on her period, but he just pulled the string and set the bit of cotton aside, not looking away from her exposed bits.

"Shaved clean?" he remarked, a brow lifting. 

She shrugged. "It's cleaner this time of month."

The corner of his mouth twitched, then one hand slid further up, brushing over her slit before he spread her lips. He eyed her pussy up and down, and Cass did her best not to squirm or pull back. 

When Roman glanced up at her face, his pupils were blown so wide his eyes almost looked black, just the faintest edge of iris visible. Then he leaned forward and she was being devoured. 

There was no other way to describe what the boy in front of her was doing. He had opened his mouth wide enough to suck in her clit even as his tongue flit from it to the opening below. That tongue seemed to scoop inside of her, touching her somehow as deeply as her own fingers, then would dart out and swirl around her clit. 

She was on fire, tingling and burning all at once, her hands clenching his duvet into her fists as she melted. 

Roman pulled back slightly and licked his face, and her hands went to his hair, but he was already diving back into her. This time, he was focusing far more on her clit, and her empty hole clenched with need in memory of his tongue. Then his long fingers prodded at the opening, one sliding in and hooking just a little inside of her, rubbing lazy circles. 

Cass cried out, knees curling around as though to hold him in place even as his other hand wrapped around her to pull her to almost falling off the bed. But he somehow managed to keep her upright, and she felt pulled tight between the excruciating rhythm of his finger and the insistent circles of his tongue. 

Now and then the tongue would dart down again, run up her lips, tease her before returning to its task. She arched, hips insistent against his face, and she thought she would break apart when a second finger slid inside of her. 

"Please, please, please," she panted, not quite knowing why, but trusting that Roman would understand. The sharp edge of teeth against that sensitive bundle of nerves urged her to look down at him, and his eyes were still hungry, but also blazing with triumph. When Cass began to look away, he made a sound like a growl against her and she forced herself to meet his gaze. 

Roman sucked her clit harder, tongue flicking against it, and started pumping his fingers more vigorously inside of her, stroking her walls, parts of herself she could never reach. She could almost hear him, the dirty things he would say to her right now were his mouth not occupied. 

"Please," she cried again. And he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Cass fell over the edge. Her inner walls clung to his fingers tightly, trying to pull them deeper, and his tongue kept on relentlessly until the clenching and shuddering began slow. He lapped lazily at her, easing his fingers out and replacing them with his tongue. 

The girl lay flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling once more. She didn't see him suck his fingers clean, but she felt the delicate kiss he planted on her mound before pulling up her panties. 

"Good girl," he said, joining her on the bed and wiping his hands and face with the towel. Roman pulled her head against him, stroking through her hair. "Not so bad, was it?"

Rich, uncontrolled laughter burst out of Cass.


	4. Nobility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cass shows she's more than just a naive girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is obviously not my first priority. However, I owed this story an update.

"Oh," said the lovely woman who had opened Roman's door without knocking. 

She was tall and slim, with shining black hair and cheekbones that Cass saw reflected in Roman. This was his mother, this stunning woman in her tailored black skirt, blazer, and white silk blouse. 

"I wasn't aware you had company, Roman. You should have told me to expect a guest for dinner."

Cass started to pull away, but Roman's fingers in her hair tightened. He manipulated her head so it rubbed against his thigh. 

"You know, Olivia, it's polite to knock when entering someone else's room," he said, though his eyes were still on the girl in his bed.

Olivia Godfrey crossed her arms, the sole of her Louis Vuitton heel tapping against the floor. "Really, Roman. I'm your mother. I should always be welcome in your room."

"We could have been fucking."

Cass choked, a hand covering her face in mortification, otherwise she'd have seen the hint of smile playing across his face.

"Well, you're not. So come down to dinner." Before she left, Olivia added, almost as though she'd forgotten Cass was there, "And bring your… friend."

As the door shut, Cass rolled over and screamed into the bed. When she rose, Roman was gazing flatly at her. "Are you done?"

"What the heck, Roman?"

"'Hell' or 'fuck', babe, never 'heck.'" He wrapped an arm around her and hauled her up. "Olivia's a bitch, but her bark is worse… well, her bite's pretty bad too." He neatened her hair, combing his fingers through it. "Our chef is fucking brilliant though, so there's that."

The table, solid wood and probably worth more than all the furniture in Cass's house, was far too large for the four people seated around it. Cass sat beside Roman, Olivia Godfrey at the head, and Shelley across from her brother. He hadn't introduced her and she nearly squirmed in her seat at the awkwardness, opening her mouth to say something just as a man in a suit that was somehow also a uniform swept in and began serving them. And she just couldn't speak up then. And then Roman indicated she should start eating as he took his first bite.

The food really was delicious. Cass supposed if you had enough money, it should be. 

“Pairs well with the wine,” Roman said, reaching to pour a rich red into the wine glass at her setting.

Cass glanced toward Olivia Godfrey, but the woman didn’t react to her sixteen-year-old pouring wine for another sixteen-year-old. “I, um--”

“Roman, if you’re going to bring  _ peasants _ to the house, could you at least teach them not to mumble?” The woman intended her words to cut, but the absurdity of being called a peasant of all things, actually forced a huff of laughter out of her.

“Peasant? Seriously?” Her eyes narrowed and flitted between the family members. Shelley’s face was mostly covered and unreadable, Roman seemed amused, Olivia was poised. “You do know that the only reason aristocracy ever existed was to fulfill a niche in society? And not one to necessarily create a ruling class.” This was Cass’s expertise, her comfort zone. “No, it was a contractual obligation. You see, in a society of limited means, time, energy, most people had to specialize in one thing. The majority,  _ peasants _ , were concerned with food production. You know, since food is necessary for survival? The minority, dependent on those  _ peasants _ for sustenance, were either also peasants who happened to be tradesmen-- smiths, coopers, etc cetera-- and then there’s nobility.” 

She took a slow sip of the wine to steady herself. Olivia now had one sleek black eyebrow raised in interest. So Cass continued. “Noble: virtuous, righteous, moral,  _ possessing outstanding qualities. _ Now, what outstanding quality was it that set nobility apart from  _ peasants, _ made them worth the sustenance given? It was not their bloodline. It was protection.” 

Now even Shelley was looking at her, the one visible eye trained on the strange girl. 

“There was a contractual obligation for nobility to protect peasants. Not everyone could afford a suit of armor or a sword. Nobility became nobility via conquest and necessity. Those who had the ability to fight took kingdoms and became kings over and over again without regard for blood. And those who remained in power only did so because they were willing to fulfill the contractual obligation to protect their  _ peasants _ from those who might harm them. That’s why knights were always nobility; it was their duty to take care of their people. Why?  _ Because their people took care of them.  _ A contractual obligation. Nothing more, nothing less. Nobles were only nobles to protect and serve their people.” 

Cass tapped a finger on her lip and added, “Throughout history, as nobles forgot their duties, they’ve been overthrown and replaced. The French and American Revolutions? Kingdoms are so eighteenth century.  _ We _ are living in the twenty first. And while our current system of socio-economic classism may reign, there is still an underwritten contract: the rich serve the middle class. With consumerism one wrong act can turn the public tide against a company and bring an empire to ruin. 

“Thus, if I am a peasant, it is you who serves me.”

“Well.” Olivia polished off her glass of wine and stood, hands smoothing over clothes. “It seems I spoke too soon.” She directed the next words toward her son. “If she’s going to be around, at least dress her better, darling.” She planted a kiss on his forehead as she passed and nodded to Cass on her way out.

Shelley looked like she was holding in laughter. She reached for her phone and clicked, then a robotic voice said, “That was spectacular. I like you.”

Cass blushed as a grin spread across her face. “Thanks. I’m Cassandra. Cass.”

“Shelley Godfrey, pleased to meet you,” droned the voice.

“You too, Shelley.”

Roman sat back and watched the interaction. “You two done eating?” they nodded. “Good. c’mon, we’re going shopping.”

“What?” 

His brows rose. “Did you not hear Olivia? I need to get you properly attired.”

Cass glanced between the two siblings, but Shelley was silent. “My attire is fine.”

“I’ve seen your closet,” he rebuked. “It is  _ so  _ not fine. Remember our agreement?” she nodded slowly and stood. “Good girl. You, too, Shell. Can’t go shopping without my favorite girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foll @FaroreF on twitter if you wanna see me post way too much about reylo.


	5. Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just rich people rich peopling.

Roman is somehow even more opinionated when it comes to fashion than she’d previously perceived from the time he’d gone through her closet. He’d held up various shades of material to her and sorted through, muttering under his breath. When she’d eyed a sunshine yellow sundress, he’d rolled his eyes and pulled her away.

“You want to wear what’s called jewel tones, dear,” he informed in that oh-so-condescending tone of his. “Emerald, sapphire, shit with names like that. And black. Everyone can wear black. Not yellow. Or pink.”

And then he’d had her try things on.

Cass hated trying clothes on. The guessing of what size was right in which brand, the tugging and shuffling of getting into it, the unflattering light of dressing rooms. Though those issues weren’t quite as bad this time.

It turned out that money bought much more than nicer clothes; it also came with a better buying experience. The moment the trio stepped into a boutique, a shop girl was there to offer her assistance, though Roman was as likely to wave her away as allow her to help. They were mostly of use taking whatever he chose to the dressing rooms. And once there they’d help her wiggle into the clothes, dealing with zippers and ties, fetching different sizes or colors for her depending on the young man’s whims.

“I like the deep reds,” he murmured as she was forced to twirl in an A-line ruby dress. “That needs a heel though.” It fell around her knees, which meant it was probably meant to be above that length; clothing never seemed to fall right on anyone under 5’5 or (Cass thought as she eyed the hem of Shelley’s skirt) over 5’9.

Once they had bags of skirts, blouses, dresses, a single pair of jeans, some flattering slacks, blouses (really, who needed so much clothing?) they were onto shoes. Mostly heels, though she could hardly walk in the stilettos Roman was most insistent on. Red bottoms, crystal studded heels, strapped, close-toed, open, wedges, boots, booties…

“This is ridiculous.” She’d already said this about four times. But they were ringing up eight pairs of shoes. Eight!

One spectacularly sparkly pair was Shelley’s find. The shy teen had typed that she thought they’d go perfectly with the slinky black dress they’d gotten at the last store. It cinched at the top with a collar of similar crystal beading, the sort of party dress more at home in Hollywood than Hemlock Grove in Cass’s view.

Roman had smiled and bumped his sister’s shoulder gently. “See, this is exactly why I need you, Shell.”

He rolled his eyes and held a black credit card to the cashier between forefinger and middle. “The travesty that is your wardrobe begs to differ.” He further had the audacity to ask the cashier to run their bags to his car, though he had the grace to add a generous tip on top. “C’mon, we have one more stop before we’re done for the night.”

“What else could we possibly need-- no.” Cass’s cheek flushed red as she pulled to a stop outside the lingerie store.

“Yes,” he countered, tugging her forward. “C’mon, no more carton panties and training bras.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t wear training bras.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Roman wrapped an arm around her and laughed. “Stop pouting. Don’t you want to feel sexy? You have a hot little body under all the kiddy shit you wear. Let’s dress you so you feel that way.”

“Is this an order?”

A slow grin unfurled across his face. “It is.”

“Fine.”

She had to be measured first, because bra sizes could apparently change a lot, and then Roman was pointing to different styles, picking out matching underwear, and plucking things she would never wear, like negligees and silk robes. Thigh highs. “Pantyhose are not sexy,” he told her. Garter belts. Cass hadn’t realized just how involved undergarments could actually be.

It was exhausting, honestly, and Cass was only too happy to be dropped off at home.

“I might have some things delivered over the next few days,” Roman said, smoking curling out of his mouth as she loaded her arms with bags and boxes. “Just to fill in some other little gaps here and there.”

Her pale brows rose. “Gaps?”

“Just say, ‘Thank you, daddy,’ and get inside.”

Cass worried at her lip, then sighed. “Fine. Thank you, Roman.”

Her cheeks flamed. He couldn’t be serious. But Roman lifted a brow expectantly.

“Thank you… daddy.”

“That’s my girl.”

It took all night to sort through everything and find a place for it. During that time, she had to get rid of some of the items Roman would no doubt find horrendous, to include some she’d owned since she was a preteen.

People noticed her throughout the week in a way that was strange, but also pleasant. Girls complimented her clothes and guys took second glances as she walked by in swishing skirts and the kitten heels deemed appropriate for daily wear. And packages indeed appeared on her doorstep throughout.

Purses, jewelry, sweaters, jackets, scarves, bathing suits, makeup…

“People are gonna start wondering if I knocked off a bank,” she muttered when she showed up to school with a patent leather messenger bag that was monogrammed of all things.

Roman shrugged in his tailored blazer. “Let ‘em wonder.” His eyes roved over her approvingly. “You’ll be getting another package today. It has a few things specifically for tonight. The smaller one. You’ll wear the pencil skirt and the Louboutins. Pin curls if you can manage it, hair up somehow otherwise. Classic evening makeup, red lips.”

She blinked at him, replying flatly, “Not gonna tell me what underwear to wear?”

He patted her cheek. “What do you think is in the package?”

“Are you always this controlling?”

“Only with you, sweetheart.”

The smaller package was from a company called Honey Birdette and had in it a few sets of underwear and bodysuits, a note stating the black one with an opaque V amid sheer material was what she should wear, along with the accessories.

Cass’s face flamed as she unfolded the gold and black tissue paper to reveal leather and chain. Specifically a leather collar and cuffs all with rose gold hardware, the former also with a long rose gold chain with leather handle.

This was beyond anything she’d thought possible when Roman had offered her the deal the week before. She grabbed her phone and hastily typed out a message.

_Wtf is this???_

_A few minutes later her phone vibrated. U can wait to put on the collar n cuffs til I get u_

_Seriously, Roman, what the fuck? I didn’t agree to this bondage stuff_

_Have I made u do ne thing u hated yet? Cmon trust me. N open the other package ull thank me_

_Fine…_

The other package was even worse. Different kinds of lubricant, a toy apparently called a rabbit that vibrated and swirled when she accidentally hit the power button, a silver capsule almost as long as her thumb, one of those huge “personal massagers” her mother owned, clips and clamps, and a series of rose gold radish shaped things of increasing size.

She was still fighting herself on figuring out what everything was versus just hiding it away when another text came telling her to be ready by eight and have had something to eat too.

She messaged back her assent and then hopped in the shower.

An hour later she was finishing up her hair with the help of a YouTube video pulled up on her bulky old computer and searched out a few makeup looks Roman might approve of. She already knew that if something didn’t please him he would not hesitate to make her change. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised he was now dabbling in bondage-related things.

By the time eight neared, Cass felt ridiculous. She was strapped into the bodysuit which grudgingly admitted hugged her form as though made for her, the skirt with its slit along her thigh revealing a hint of lace at the top of the thigh highs. The heels weren’t going on until the last moment as she was worried about falling over. They were nearly five inches high. The red on the bottom matched the red, velvety lipstick she brushed across her lips. Cass had even tried her hand at the fake lashes that were among all the odds and ends sent.

Her mother wasn’t home, so Cass reluctantly slipped the cuffs onto her wrist. At the collar, she hesitated. That was when the bell rang.

She slipped her feet into the heels, calling, “Just a second,” holding the collar in one hand and the little red purse with its intricate black beading in the other. It had a few bills, her ID, phone, and lipstick.

The door swung open and Roman ducked into the entryway. His deep green eyes swung down her body and he let out a low whistle. “You look hot.”

Her face was burning under the makeup. “Thanks.”

“Come ‘ere, lemme put that on for you.” He nodded to the collar, which she handed him before wiping slick palms over her skirt. Roman pocketed the leash and buckled the shining clasp so that the V dip was over the hollow of her throat. His fingers skimmed her hair aside and she shivered as he planted a soft kiss above the skin-warmed leather. His hands then danced over her appreciatively. “Perfect. Ready to go?”

He didn’t wait for her response, instead guiding her toward his car.

“Where are we going?”

A smile played across his face. “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on the tweeter. @FaroreF
> 
> Also, we are starting to get into the deeper kink fun.


	6. Spice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we go, down the rabbit hole.

“You don’t need to see ID,” Roman told the bouncer at the door. It was like no club Cassandra had ever seen, blacked out door, no sign, subdued outside and in a part of the city she wouldn’t expect a club. And there was no blaring music drumming through the walls.

“Of course,” the large man replied dreamily, sweeping aside to allow them entrance. 

Roman smirked and guided her into the harsh fluorescent lighting. There was a desk where a large man with two inch long stiletto nails was manning. He cocked his head at their entrance, but only said, “It’s 45 for couples.”

Roman handed folded bills between his fingers and they both received orange bands on their wrists. Rather than go through the next door into the club proper, he tugged her aside and pulled the leash from his pocket. As it clicked into the O ring on her leather collar his cash green eyes were burning into her, and he nearly purred when she skimmed her tongue over nervous lips.

“There we go. All dressed up. Now, rules for the night. Look to me before you speak to  _ anyone _ . Do not contradict anything I say. Stay to my left, and if you need my attention, lay one hand over the other, both palms up.” He stroked elegant fingers against her cheek. “Do you understand?”

Her breath fluttered in time with her heart and she nodded.

“Speak.” It was harsh, searing into her like his gaze.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“ _ Sir _ ,” Roman pronounced, the fingers now curling at her jaw, whispering at the space between it and the thick leather around her throat.

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked and nodded for her to take her place, hand on her lower back to guide her through the next door.

There were signs all over the place featuring the “house rules.”

_ No photography without DM supervision _

_ Edgeplay must be approved by DM _

_ Only yes is yes unless negotiated beforehand _

_ No outing people _

_ No drugs or intoxication in dungeon _

_ No nudity on furniture unless using puppy pads _

_ No glitter _

_ No phones beyond front desk _

_ No oral-to-genital OR genital-to-genital sex at non-member parties _

_ No solo scenes _

_ Quiet around scenes _

_ No exchange of money _

_ Smoking only on patio _

_ Water only in play spaces _

_ House safewords traffic light signals: _

_ Red = stop _

_ Yellow = slow/ change/ close to limit _

_ Green = go _

The inside was one large open room with couches and chairs tucked into one corner where people could watch the happenings around. There were pieces of black and red and wooden furniture, tables, cages, hooks and pulleys staggered throughout.

To the right there were doors either ajar or fully open.

Roman guided her along with a hand on the small of her back and the gentle pull of the leash at her throat. There was a self-serve bar (no alcohol) and a buffet of snacks. 

“Hmm.” He led her to the sitting area, dropping into a cushiony green chair. “Down.” Roman snapped at the floor and Cass frowned.

He wanted her to sit at his feet like a dog? She had expected to be on his lap at the worst, but this was humiliating. She gazed down at the worn red carpet and back at the boy holding her leash. Roman was unblinking and gave a little tug on the rose gold chain.

Mortification swooped through to her core, but Cass mindfully lowered herself to her knees, legs neatly folded beneath her and heels brushing the material of her skirt. Were it not for the slit on the fitted item, she thought her thick thighs might have burst the seams.

Instead of praising her obedience, he stroked one of pale, perfect hands over her hair. “I want you to sit and watch for a while. If you see anything that interests you or you have questions about, lemme know.”

Cass peered back at him through thickened lashes. “Have you been here before?”

A brow tugged up. “Yes, now shut the fuck up unless I tell you you can speak, got it?” At her nod, he snapped, “I want verbal confirmation you understand.”

Her heart stuttered against her ribs. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s better.”

He sat back, just the fingertips lingering over her soft, styled curls, and surveyed the room, for all the world a prince viewing commoners at play.

There was a big wooden X nearest them and a couple was setting up their things. The woman stripped down to panties as the man laid out a series or something she couldn’t make out through them on a little side table. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against the wood, hands veeing up the arms of the cross, legs spread to mimic the bottom.

She was wearing leather cuffs similar to Cass’s own, though there were ones on her ankles too, and the hardware was all silver with little square locks at each closing point.

She was clipped into place by the man, who then ran meaty hands from hers, down her arms, and over her back, massaging lightly on her lace-clad ass. Then he gave a light slap, to which the woman chuckled, another harder, slowly increasing the pace force until the woman’s dark buttocks were rippling with the blows.

Cass stared, watching a slight reddening in the shape of a handprint on as the big man smacked the woman’s left cheek. He beat a rhythm across them, the woman murmuring her enjoyment all the while, then turned to consider his table.

“Flogger.” The word creased her brows, then Cass caught sight of what the man now held. It was all leather, braided leather handle and several inch-width strips of leather that began coaxing the bound woman’s skin. Roman had answered her question before she’d even had it.

It went on like that, Roman casually dropping words when new things appeared. “Paddle.” That was recognizable even to her, flat and wide polished wood. “Cane” was a long rod that she was sure had never been used to help anyone walk. It was a few inches wide and looked like it might be a PVC pipe, though she couldn’t be sure.

The woman on the cross was crying out with each blow as it left warm red welts across her skin. The sounds were not just of pain, and she shifted as she wondered how anyone could talk pleasure from it. The quick burst of pain followed by blood rushing to the area, suffusing it with heat. It was all focused on her backside and her inner thighs, a softer hit or two even on the space between and--

“Oh.” Her stomach flipped and she felt almost dizzy as she flushed down her chest.

A low chuckle drew her eyes up the leash and to the boy watching her. Roman laid a finger under her chin and guided it higher. “Does my little kitten wanna play?” Cass chewed at the inside of her lip, otherwise frozen. She couldn’t possibly answer that; she’d die of mortification. Sensing her plight, he nodded slowly and instructed, “Say ‘Yes, daddy.’”

Her lips parted. He would choose the absolute worst way to have her respond. “Ye- yes, daddy,” came the whisper.

“Good girl.” Roman stroked her cheek then stood, tugging lightly to have her follow. She swayed up, and only his hand flitting to her back gave her the strength to walk with him further into the dungeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No matter what, I plan to finish my fics. You can get updates on how I'm doing, when and what I'm working on by following me on Twitter (@FreyaFallen) and/or checking out the links on my carrd (in profile).


	7. Sugary Sips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cass receives her first ever spanking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I didn't make it clear, but this story is supposed to be a bit smutty and not horribly serious. It's just kink-sploration. I have serious stories if you wanna read plot, but yeah...

She was shaking in her heels as Roman set up. Second and third and fiftieth thoughts were streaming through her mind and it must have shown on her face. When he turned to her his face morphed into a frown and he took her hands in his own.

“Hey, look at me.” He cupped her face, tipping her chin up toward him. “I’m just gonna spank you a little, that’s all.”

Her eyes darted back to the wedge of leather and wood behind him. “Do I have to, y’know, get naked?”

Her laughed, eyes brightening. “Nah, I’m not trying to break you, sweetheart. Just take off the skirt. That’s why I had you wear this.” Roman ran a large hand over her side, indicating the bodysuit. 

It was, she admitted, quite a bit more modest than the majority of those she’d passed taking a beating. He stepped back and Cass fumbled at the zipper to the skirt, sliding the material down and folding it neatly on the chair over which he’d hung his blazer. 

A hand to the small of her back guided her to the piece of furniture. She clambered on and he eased her knees on the padded shelves at about the right height (probably meant for people a little taller) for them. Roman pushed between her shoulders and she prostrated over the length of leather. Her hands he clipped to a ring attached to the wood at the end.

“This is a spanking bench,” he informed her; she could see him rolling up his sleeves in her peripheral vision. “It’s great for getting pretty girls like you on all fours, huh?”

Cass wanted to scowl, but she was indeed bent over and at his mercy.

“You remember the stoplight system they had on the posters?” He started rubbing soft circles from her shoulders to her back. When she nodded, Roman said, “Tell me about it.”

“Red it stop, yellow is slow or change or, green is go.”

He hummed, hand slipping to massage her ass and Cass jumped slightly though she’d known where he was going. “You ever been spanked before?”

“No,” she said into the leather against her cheek. His swat was more surprising than painful, but she flinched anyway.

“What did you say?”

She suppressed a small giggle. “No, sir.”

“That’s better.” He spread his hands to palm her cheeks, fingertips digging slightly into the fleshy mounds. “We’re gonna see how you like it now. Ready?”

Her heart was in her throat and she didn’t know if it was possible to be ready for such a thing, but she dutifully said, “Yes, sir.”

Roman hummed behind her, touches turning gentle before disappearing. She didn’t have time to expect the first blow; it landed soundly and she instinctively tried to sit up only to find she couldn’t with the bindings at her wrists. He pressed her flat with a hand between her shoulders and slapped twice more, startled little sounds forced from her throat.

“Keep still.” The order was punctuated by more slaps. They didn’t hurt horribly, but there was a zinging sting to them and heat was gathering where they went. That’s better.” Both hands beat a steady rhythm into her and she flinched and jolted, hands digging into the wooden bench and toes curling in her heels.

“Ah!” A particularly hard slap at the joinder of thigh and ass tightened her body.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” Roman’s voice was cool, observing.

“Uhuh. Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

They came harder after that, until she was shaking her head back and forth, though she didn’t necessarily want to end it. She was sweating, too hot on the inside though her skin felt clammy. Little noises like the ones she’d made when Roman went down on her were escaping her lips and she felt like she was transforming, turning into a pile of raw nerves.

A series of heavy blows landed that had her jolting in her skin until she sobbed dryly, then his hands were rubbing soothingly at her burning skin. 

Roman leaned over her. “Good girl. You did so well, sweetheart.” She hummed, slowly catching onto the fact that he was done. It could have been five minutes or an hour, she had no idea, but she was settling back into herself with a dizzying buzz at the back of her mind. He unclipped her wrists and assisted her in sitting up, slipped his blazer over her shoulders, half carrying her to his previous seat.

This time she was on his lap, her tender buttocks hanging off slightly. It was nice, curling up against him.

A strange young woman appeared with a can of soda. “Looked like you might be thirsty,” she said to Cass. 

Roman took it and popped the tab. “Thanks.” He slipped it into her hands. “Sip on this. Sugar helps after.”

Cass obediently took a sip. “Have you done this a lot?” 

“More than you have,” he evaded, stroking the back of her head. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Floaty.” 

Roman chuckled, the sound vibrating through her pleasantly. With the blazer, his body, the cool, sugary drink, and the stream of hormones flooding her system, she was happy and calm and seemed to exist outside of herself.

They watched as someone was whipped and she commented that that was not something she’d ever be brave enough to try.

“Luckily I don’t know how to use a whip anyway,” Roman replied. 

She hummed sleepily and rubbed the arm around her waist. 

She felt like she might have drifted off as well. Roman was talking to the couple near them, lying out of his teeth when he said he was nineteen and she was barely eighteen, but she listened keenly despite the distance from herself, taking in that he’d apparently been here one other time, but was mostly new. 

“This one was pure as the driven snow fore I got a hold of her.” He rubbed her thigh affectionately. “Lucky for me; I’ve got a bit of a corruption kink.”

Cass giggled. “You sure do, daddy.”

Something twitched under her ass and she bit back a gasp. 

“Give you one spanking and you’re suddenly starting to become a brat.” He shook his head. “You sleepy, baby?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Let’s get you home then.” He set her on her feet, assisting her into the skirt and heels (when had those come off).

Before he dropped her off that night, Cass initiated a a shy kiss. Roman tangled his fingers at the back of her hair and took over hungrily so that she was bright red when they parted. 

“I had fun. Thank you.”

They did surprisingly well on their end of semester project presentation; Roman was brilliant behind his playboy facade. It almost made her jealous how absolutely easy everything was for him. Meanwhile Cass worked her ass off for every good grade, every merit, every award. 

She was quite aware of her own mediocrity. Pretty, but not gorgeous. Smart, but not gifted. Great memory, but not eidetic. Hell, she was even short, but not short enough to be thought of when height came up. 

What set her apart was her absolute determination to do her best. And now Roman Godfrey’s attention. 

People had noticed, of course; how could they not when he would flick her ear in passing or give her some little order. One day he’d told her she needed to pull her hair back because it had grown out enough to cover her face too much. Another he had her remove her sweater and pass the rest of the day in a barely-acceptable tank top. He drove her half the time, and arriving in his mint Jaguar was hardly inconspicuous. 

“You’re still coming over on Friday,” he told her during that last class before break, poking her shoulder before she left class.

“We don’t have to work on the project; we’re doing well.”

He grinned, a slow, Cheshire thing. “Yeah, well, this is bonus time to work on dragging you into the dark side. So you’re still coming over. Besides, we’ll need to shop at some point.”

“Again?” Her brows flew up her forehead to his great amusement.

“Calm your tits. It’ll be shorter this time. You just need a dress. Maybe shoes. Olivia’s throwing this New Year’s Eve party and you’re gonna come and let me make you uncomfortable.”

“Won’t one of the dresses I already have work?” She was not looking forward to another trip. 

His eyes narrowed. “Be glad I’m not showing up with a magazine and tailor.”

“Now that is excessive.”

“That’s how Olivia does it.” He patted the top of her head.

“You could just order something?” 

“Stop arguing. Just accept your defeat gracefully and get your ass to the Jag.”

Knowing the end when she saw it, she nodded and sighed, following along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I welcome comments if you're just going to tell me a story about a teenage vampire seducing another teenager is unrealistic you are in the wrong place.


End file.
